I have heard the Siren's song.The tan clay that bears my future, etched and dried in the sun, has been shattered, and the shards cast.But it doesn't bother me.

The apparition, the spirit, speaks quiet words,sentences and phrases that often go unheard and unheeded.The loudest things are not always the wisest thoughts expressed.Whispers, carried like leaves on the wind, more often bring truth.

Once, I heard the sound of silenceand awoke.

Desire strikes a chord on my well-tuned heartstrings, an instrument not yet played.The sound births an ache; one to run, to hide, to be gone;one that hurts much worse than leaving.